In Your Eyes
by quixotomy
Summary: Rivals Kurosaki Ichigo and Grimmjow Jaegerjaques take part in an experiment where they look into each other's eyes for three minutes; they learn that this is all it takes to change their lives, and that the most important things can be said without words.
1. to see your soul

_**In Your Eyes**_

_Infamous rivals at their college, Kurosaki Ichigo and Grimmjow Jaegerjaques agree to take part in an experiment where they look into each other's eyes for three minutes. They soon learn that this is all it takes to change their lives, and that the biggest and most important things in life can be said without words._

* * *

><p>Pale lavender kissed the indigo sky in the east as dawn broke, soon consumed by a powdery gold and a soft blush of pink. The wind stirred the trees softly as the sun rose, the scent of spring carried with it. This day would be a beautiful one. Rukia could just smell it.<p>

The gentlest melody of running water was all she heard as she walked to class. Idly swinging her bag from one hand, a smile curved her lips as she saw her friends in the distance, waiting for her: Renji, Ichigo, Orihime, and more, a small crowd beyond.

Cherry blossoms floated serenely to the ground - the very atmosphere felt charged, alive, with something. Something special.

For a moment, she paused and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and her smiled widened. The air carried with it the scent of new, exciting things to come.

And, for once, she knew why.

* * *

><p>"I said no, Rukia!"<p>

"It's only an experiment. It doesn't even last more than a few minutes. I don't see why you're so worried."

Ichigo stared at her suspiciously. When his friend had approached him, asking for his participation in one of her science projects, he had immediately sensed danger. Rukia never did the wide-eyed, innocent schoolgirl routine on him unless things were going to turn out badly. Usually for Ichigo. He didn't trust her; this feeling deepened immediately when he saw that she was smiling at him coyly and twirling hair round her finger.

"No, Rukia."

The act was dropped. Rukia scowled and kicked him in the knee. While Ichigo hopped and cursed in pain, she took a hold of his orange hair, whispering in his ear:

"If you don't do it, I'll tell Rangiku that you and Renji kissed at the last New Year's party. And, that neither of you were drunk."

Ichigo's mouth gaped open and he turned white. "You...how did you...?"

Rukia smirked. "I didn't, but now I do."

"You little-!"

The grip on his hair grew tighter. Ichigo hissed in frustration.

"Fine, I'll do it!" he said, between gritted teeth. Stupid, sneaky woman! How did she manage to do this to him every time? Ichigo refused to believe there was anyone in the world as lacking in morals as Kuchiki Rukia. She was terrifying. Why did he always make friends with the _scary _women?

"Good." She sounded smug and satisfied. Ichigo's insides boiled with rage. "I'll let you know of formal arrangements later, then."

It sounded so ominous, coming from her lips. She hadn't divulged the exact details of this 'experiment' to him yet, which could only mean that things would end in his suffering and humiliation. And, that Rukia would enjoy every moment of it.

* * *

><p>He didn't know why he was there. He hated the majority of these people. Hell, he hated the majority of people full stop. Grimmjow Jaegerjaques was not a sociable person in the least, and there was no one who knew it better than himself. And, the thing was, he didn't even give a fuck.<p>

Everyone else – about thirty of them - had gathered into loose groups, drifting and floating about like snowflakes, while he sat in a corner, separate. Nelliel, the very person who had gotten him into this mess, was bouncing around like a hyperactive child, smiling and squealing and basically making most of his senses hurt. He wished he could have hit her. Usually he had no compunctions about hitting girls. But, this was in public and he knew fine well that Nelliel could kick his ass without breaking a sweat. The thought made him glower fiercely. A few stray souls lingering close to him noticed his murderous expression. When he growled at them – literally growled – they took off in the opposite direction as fast as possible without resorting to sprinting away.

Grimmjow sneered. Weak. Predictable. Nothing more than dirt on his feet. Scum, the lowest element in the food chain. That was what most people were. Nameless, faceless insects that crawled over the earth, doing nothing, being nothing.

He had no friends. He needed none. Grimmjow could take care of himself: he was alone, and he always had been. Shuffled around from home to home from his birth, he had never put down roots. He had no family, no mother or father; he'd been unwanted all his life. There was nothing to anchor him down to anything or anybody. He did what he wanted, said what he wanted, could be exactly who he wanted to be and nobody and nothing could stop him.

_Fuck the world._ That was his motto. Fuck the world and everyone in it. What use were they to him? What could they do for him, be for him? Nothing.

If he could have eaten them, he would have. Eaten them all. Every single person on the planet. Absorbed their life and their spirit, everything. Something in his soul paced restlessly, looking for something undefined; he hungered always. He just didn't know what for.

A small commotion broke his concentration. His thought derailed, he glanced at the door and his glare became even more poisonous.

_There he is, _he thought, already simmering with anticipation and rage and hatred, all mixed up into a heady cocktail of emotion that was already seeping into his veins. Murderous intent was dripping from his pores. Around him people shifted nervously as they felt the aura around him darken. They could already see the fight, blows and insults exchanged as the two most infamous rivals on campus came face to face yet again.

Grimmjow got up and sauntered casually to the source of the ruckus. The reason his heart was beating so fast already stood a head above everyone else, bright, obnoxious orange hair a beacon from miles away. It made Grimmjow's head hurt. Such a color should not have existed naturally. And, it was only another reason to add to the list of Why He Hated Kurosaki Ichigo.

There were other reasons, of course. Many of them. Hundreds. They ranged from things such as _Kurosaki Ichigo is a cocky, arrogant little shit _to _Kurosaki Ichigo is tanned, even in winter_ and _Kurosaki Ichigo likes a lot of things I like and this cannot be tolerated__,__ therefore I must hate him._

Many of them made no sense. However, that didn't matter to Grimmjow. What mattered was that this little shit seemed to be the only human being in the world that could get under his skin. Who could really rile him up, have him simmering with indescribable rage and condescension and so many other, nameless things. He could already feel his hackles rising like a wild animal, claws out and ready to pounce.

People parted in front of him as the Red Sea before Moses. Soon there was nothing left but air and bad feeling between him and his enemy, his nemesis. Brown eyes glanced his way coolly before Ichigo sighed and the hint of a smirk flashed across his lips. Grimmjow's teeth bared in a snarl, lips pulled back and eyes narrowed to slits. _That cocky little fucker. I'mma wipe that mouth straight offa him today__.__ B__reak all his teeth and mess his pretty little face up. Fucking cunt._

"Came back so soon to get your ass kicked again?" Ichigo said, grinning in a way that had Grimmjow's blood tangling in his veins with pure venom.

"Last time was a fluke, you lil' shit," he growled, making people step back in fear. "This time I'll-"

"Leave him alone. Won't you, Grimmjow?"

It seemed time had frozen. Grimmjow whipped his head around to look at Nelliel, hands on her hips and mouth set in a firm line. When she wanted to be, Nelliel could be the coldest, most ruthless little bitch on the planet. He'd never been on her good side, but he'd never seen the extent of her full fury either. Nnoitra still bore the scars from last time. It was not something Grimmjow wanted to experience.

"What the fuck is even going on here anyway?" he snapped, to save face. No one had informed him of any details – Nelliel had just promised that she would take lecture notes for him for the next semester if he participated. Grimmjow, academically lazy as he was, had found it an offer too good to refuse and hadn't even thought about not accepting.

One of Ichigo's friends cleared her throat – another ice-queen, the Kuchiki bitch. She stood on top of a table to attract attention and announced:

"All right everyone, you've been asked to take part in a joint science project between me and Odelshvank Nelliel, but none of you know what you'll be doing. Don't worry, it's nothing dangerous! It only lasts a couple of minutes, and all you'll be doing is looking at someone." Faced with a sea of confused expressions, she elaborated, "What I mean is, Nel and I will be pairing you off, and we will time you as you stare into your partner's eyes for three minutes. Three full minutes, understand? That's all."

Anxious murmurs suddenly filled the small room. In a culture where looking into a stranger's eyes was taboo, the thought of such prolonged eye contact, even with a friend, was a daunting prospect. Ichigo himself felt uneasy.

"Hey, Rukia, are you serious about this?" he asked her, rubbing the back of his head in a nervous gesture. She didn't miss it and shrugged as she hopped back onto the ground, trying to look neutral.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be? It's only a little project, Ichigo. Well, it's not really that little, it accounts for twenty percent of my whole grade, but the point is, you do nothing but stare into someone else's eyes for three minutes! What's so hard about that?"

"It's not that it's _hard,"_ he said, ever-present frown deepening, "It's just...well...kinda weird."

"Please. Are you telling me you're chickening out?"

"What? No!"

"The great Kurosaki Ichigo, smiter of the scary, defender of the pure and virtuous, the most feared person in this whole university and probably the whole town, scared of a little science experiment?" Rukia smirked. "Just wait 'till people hear about this!"

"Rukia, I'm not scared!"

She jutted her chin out. "Then prove it to me."

Ichigo made a face. He could never resist a challenge.

"Fine. You're on."

* * *

><p>Names were placed into a hat. Pair after pair was called out, and Ichigo felt the back of his neck prickle with sweat and the knowledge that a pair of bright blue, hateful eyes were fixed on him.<p>

_Please don't let it be him, please not him, anyone but him, oh my God I'd even put with Keigo for three minutes but not-_

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaques and Kurosaki Ichigo!" Nel called out, trying her hardest to suppress her gleeful smile.

The whole room inhaled sharply as one. Ichigo froze. He didn't dare turn around to face Grimmjow. Instead he signed frantically to Rukia, trying to catch her attention. She ignored him and he swore he saw her smiling.

"Table six please!" Nel chirped, looking at him with big grey-green eyes. She smiled radiantly and, at that moment, he knew he was doomed. Ichigo dragged his feet slowly to their allotted table and stared hard at its wooden surface while Grimmjow strolled slowly in that infuriating way of his, scraping back his chair with a loud, lingering, unashamed screech. He sat down heavily and stretched his legs out until his feet were angled at either side of Ichigo.

The desk they were sitting at was made of a dark wood. It was chipped and scratched and had a few stains here and there, but it was sturdy and Ichigo supposed that was all that mattered. He valued sturdiness in tables. What else was a table good for? Give him a nice, sturdy table and he was set. And, that counted for chairs too. In fact -

"OK guys, we'll be starting in a few minutes," Rukia declared. "Just give us time to get paperwork all fixed up. When I say go, you must stop all talking and look at each other. You must not look away until I say so. No talking, no touching, no funny faces, nothing! I want to hear absolute silence. Understand?"

There was a murmur of assent. Other pairs started talking, while Ichigo stared fixedly at the table, trying to memorize the pattern of the grain. He looked to the side and counted the tiles on the wall. Anything to avoid that hot, blue-eyed gaze.

"Scared, dipshit?"

Ichigo clenched his jaw. He would be calm. He would not cause a scene like last time. Another fight, he had been warned, would lead to expulsion. And, he had worked too hard to get to college to throw this away.

"You wish, bluebell. I'm not scared of you. Forgot I broke your nose last time we fought?"

Grimmjow smiled; disdain dripping from the very strands of his artfully tousled blue hair. "Yeah, don't forget those cracked ribs and the dislocated shoulder I gave you the time before that."

"Oh please, that was nothing. You couldn't even walk when I-"

"It's almost time!" Nel squealed in his ear, making them both jump. She winked. "You be good now, OK? No fighting!"

Ichigo sent her a silent look of pleading, but she merely giggled and bounced away. He repressed the urge to sigh and scowled poisonously at Grimmjow.

"Let's swap," he said.

Grimmjow raised an eyebrow. "Say what?"

"Swap. Swap partners with someone else."

"Why?" Grimmjow sneered, eyes shining with malice. "Thought you weren't _scared_ of me, Kurosaki?"

"I'm not scared of you!" Ichigo snapped. "I could handle this easy, no sweat, I just -"

"No sweat, huh? Is that right?"

"Yeah, that's right," Ichigo said, crossing his arms and staring at his rival with defiance.

"Good. Then let's see who wins here. This ain't nothing but another battle, right? And, whoever comes out on top of this the best wins."

"How the crap do you even win this sort of thing, idiot? It's not the lottery. And, anyway, there's not a chance in hell I'll let you get the best of me."

"Whatever, dickhead, I'll-"

Ichigo never knew what Grimmjow intended to say after that. Nel called for the start of the three minutes, and silence instantly descended. Brown eyes locked onto blue. The air rolled slowly between them as if thicker, honeyed by sunlight and the heat of the day.

After a few seconds, Ichigo was already sweating. He was sitting in a ray of direct sunlight, and Grimmjow's eyes were so unnerving. Such a rich, intense blue. The longer he stared into them, the deeper they became, until it felt like he was drowning in them. He could pick out dozens of shades of blue. There were flecks of yellow too, and green. The irises were ringed by indigo, which lightened from bright blue to the color of robins' eggs the closer he looked to the pupils, slowly dilating larger and larger.

Grimmjow's eyes were a whirlwind of emotion. Hunger. Excitement. Blood-lust. It made Ichigo shiver.

It was going to be a very long three minutes.

* * *

><p>The longer Grimmjow looked into Ichigo's brown eyes, the twitchier he began to feel. In those molten depths he had, at first, seen frustration, reluctance, discomfort. Now, they were narrow with annoyance. Ichigo blinked and scowled as the sun hit his face, and a muscle in Grimmjow's jaw twitched. Now, he saw sparks of gold and black interspersed between shades of honey and amber; those eyes were deep and endless. He could feel himself drowning in their warmth.<p>

He thought of chocolate, of coffee, chestnuts and cinnamon; everything that made the senses come alive. The warmest, most comforting things he knew. He could smell the perfume of Ichigo's dark, spicy scent filling his head like a dizzying fog. He could feel that burning gaze slip under his clothes, his skin, into his very soul. Those eyes looked straight into him, the source of him.

Grimmjow's heart starting thumping unevenly. Sweat prickled the back of his neck and his chest. He could feel something burning his cheeks – was he blushing?

_Fuck no,_ he thought angrily, swatting the unwanted realization away like an irritating fly._ I don't blush. No one makes me do that. Why the fuck would I do that?_

The tips of his ears were turning red. He could feel it spreading down his neck, his chest. He attributed it to the heat. It was making him feel strange. Maybe he had heatstroke.

Barely thirty seconds had passed and Grimmjow could barely keep himself from gripping the edge of his chair with a white-knuckled grip. He never broke eye contact with Ichigo. This was a battle; one they had both accepted and walked into, and one neither of them would give up. Ichigo was every bit as stubborn as he was. They were similar in many ways. Grimmjow knew this, and yet the knowledge itched at him, clawed at his brain each time the orange-haired man wandered into his thoughts – which was more often than he liked to admit to himself.

_I hate his eyes, _he thought viciously. If it had been legal, he would have launched himself at Ichigo then and there and poked them out of that pretty face.

It was the plain, honest truth. He hated Kurosaki Ichigo. Ever since the moment they'd met each other, he'd felt something, something tingling in the pit of his stomach, causing chills to scamper up and down his spine like someone had just breathed on the back of his neck. His guts had churned and the light had softened and faded; everyone else had disappeared and there was nothing left but him and that arrogant, cocky person staring his way as though Grimmjow was nothing more than a minor annoyance. Nothing to be noticed. Nothing special.

Grimmjow yearned to thread his hands through that orange hair and pull it out. He wanted to scratch and claw over Ichigo's smooth, tanned skin, wanted to leave it marred and imperfect like his own was, blotched with scars and blemishes. He wanted to bite into that flesh, feel the blood dripping over his lips and teeth.

Saliva flooded his mouth at the thought. Kurosaki Ichigo under him, no longer so confident, so distant, covered in bruises and cuts. He wanted to mark him. Claim him.

_He is my prey._

Things were as simple as that.

They were approaching the first minute. Both of them were fighting the urge to squirm with discomfort, instead gritting their teeth and gazing fixedly at each other.

Grimmjow noticed his mouth was open and he was panting slightly. He licked his lips. Ichigo's eye twitched as he followed the moment at the periphery of his vision, and Grimmjow felt a wide, manic grin splitting his face. Ichigo was frowning so hard it looked like he would pass out from the strain of it.

Sweat was starting to run down his back. He imagined fingers stroking down his skin instead; Ichigo's fingers. Long and surprisingly elegant, he knew they could pack a punch if needed. The punk had trained in karate since the age of four and he'd been constantly picking fights since his mother's death at the age of nine. Grimmjow knew all this; he knew Ichigo's history as intimately as he knew his own.

Ichigo was a formidable opponent, a fact belied by his lean, muscled body. Fast and agile, the orange-haired man constantly kept Grimmjow on his toes. He'd never met anyone like it. Ichigo gave him a good fight every time they crossed paths and the experience was exhilarating. Grimmjow loved it. The punches, the kicks, the adrenaline pumping in his veins; the feeling was unforgettable, unattainable with other opponents. No one else even came close.

The object of his thoughts shifted in silence, never looking away. Ichigo swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. Grimmjow watched, hypnotized, as a drop of sweat meandered lazily down the tanned expanse of Ichigo's throat.

It was only for a millisecond, and instantly his eyes locked back onto Ichigo's. His mouth felt insanely dry. His fingers were twitching. He couldn't keep still, couldn't contain himself, the only thing he wanted to do was pounce on the man in front of him and...

_And what?_

His mind came skidding to a blank.

What did he want to do to his enemy?

The urge to destroy him had passed. They were coming up to one and a half minutes. Thoughts raced through his head at a hundred miles an hour, flitting and ephemeral like snowflakes flying in a storm. A thousand desires rose up in him, snakelike and insidious, sliding through his flesh and bones. His hands clenched and unclenched. His throat was parched. He licked his lips again.

What did he want to do to Ichigo?

* * *

><p>Grimmjow kept licking his lips.<p>

Ichigo couldn't help but notice it. His mind was hooked onto any distraction available, anything to stop himself from being submerged into that all-encompassing blue gaze. It was like falling face-first into an endless well filled with the summer sky.

Grimmjow's eyes were beautiful. The thought had never occurred to Ichigo before, but now he had to admit it to himself; Grimmjow was an attractive man. Ichigo, having done his fair share of fooling around with both sexes, was in no position to deny it. The man was tall and well-built, with broad shoulders and blue hair styled into artful disarray. His smile was toothy, his features clean and sharp – no, Ichigo knew that Grimmjow was a good looking person. On the outside at least.

On the inside, he wasn't so sure. The other student was lazy, disrespectful, rude to the point of madness, and he was insanely short-tempered. Stubborn as a mule, too, but Ichigo could understand _that,_ if nothing else. What he didn't get, though, was the sense that Grimmjow went through his life with no real aim but to fight everyone and everything else.

He could see it. Could read it in those deep, endless blue eyes; past the angry facade, the walls of irritation and isolation, was a heavy, suffocating sense of_ loneliness._

Ichigo wondered if Grimmjow had ever had a friend. He knew his blue-haired rival had been under foster care since birth, having had no real home until high school when a mysterious benefactor had paid for a small apartment in a not-too-bad area of town within walking distance of the university.

_In that case, scratch friend. He's never even had a real_ family.

The thought came like a punch to the stomach, almost blowing the air out his lungs. Ichigo imagined his life without his family, his father and his sisters. He thought of his crazy friends and the daily annoyances of his father attacking him at every chance available. He thought of the arguments, the tension, the everyday incidents and irritations that made up family life. The relief of having a home-cooked meal prepared for him by his loving sister, playing games, watching TV, being a part of something, unified and loving.

Had Grimmjow ever experienced that? He doubted it.

Pity flickered in mind, but he quashed it. It wouldn't be appreciated; more likely, Grimmjow would be offended at the thought of being pitied. He would spit and sneer and scorn the idea.

No, Ichigo wouldn't pity him. But, he wondered, could he do something else?

A part of his brain had been counting every second since the beginning. He was vaguely aware that they were close to two minutes. The longer he looked into Grimmjow's eyes, the hotter his skin felt. The startling blueness of that frank, intense stare was scorching. Flames were licking the inside of his chest. His fingers tapped an anxious rhythm on the surface of the table.

He could tell it was annoying the other man. Grimmjow's expression hardened a little and without warning, one of his hands came out to land on top of Ichigo's, pinning it down silently.

Ichigo thought his heart would fly out his throat. Grimmjow's hand was big, slightly bigger than his own, with long, callused fingers and warmth radiating from him like a furnace. His skin was rough, but it felt comforting to Ichigo. Disturbingly so.

These feelings – how strange they were. Just by looking into another person's eyes everything could change. Ichigo found his world spinning and breaking apart, coming back together different than before. The pieces still fit, still slotted together, but now they were aligned in an altered pattern. One in which blue washed into all the other colours of his life, in which Grimmjow's eyes were darkening and gleaming with things Ichigo couldn't name.

Their breaths were coming out in near pants. It felt so incredibly intrusive to stare at someone like this but, now, they couldn't look away from each other. Electric fire ran through every nerve of their bodies, sparking across neurones and tightening muscles. Ichigo felt his ribcage contracting. He was almost shaking.

_He has the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen._

Grimmjow seemed to read his thoughts. His expression softened just by a shade, and Ichigo saw him more clearly than he'd ever seen him before: a boy forced to grow up too fast, lonely and afraid to admit it, searching for something precious, something to anchor to him to life. A wild animal trapped in an invisible cage, unable to escape, and too terrified to try.

But Desperate. For respect, love, warmth, something constant to hold in his life. Something solid and tangible, that would never leave him the way his parents had left him.

Something constricted inside Ichigo. His breath was cut short. He saw inside blue eyes, no longer protected by anger or disdain or contempt, but naked, vulnerable. Pure as the sky – eyes he knew he'd never forget, no matter how many lifetimes he lived.

In that moment, Kurosaki Ichigo fell in love.

* * *

><p>Two and a half minutes.<p>

His blood felt thick, slow, like molasses. Grimmjow was feeling things he'd never felt before, things he'd only ever heard of, dreamed of. He had grown up alone with no friends and no family. During his adolescence, while others had grown and developed an interest for the other sex (or their own), he had remained staunchly asexual. He found no interest in sex, in intimacy or closeness. He'd never been kissed or held, and had never wanted to experience such things. He'd scoffed at the thought.

Intimacy was weakness. It was lack of protection, stripping away layers of your skin until nothing remained of you but bones and bitterness. He had seen countless broken hearts and broken minds, driven to madness by love or obsession. He didn't understand why people permitted such an existence. Love, happiness, contentment – these things didn't really exist. It was chemicals emitted by your brain, deluding you into accepting a lie. That was what he had always firmly believed.

All he had needed was his anger. And, oh, was there anger. It curled around him in a thick shell of iron, impenetrable and impassable. No one had been able to wiggle under his skin his whole life. His rage and hatred had kept them at a distance.

Grimmjow picked fights. He was rude, short-tempered, violent, and cared for no one. No one had ever cared for him – he lived his life alone, and had long ago accepted that he would die alone too. It had never bothered him.

Until now.

Ichigo's brown eyes were mesmerizing. Grimmjow couldn't believe such a colour could be so rich, so fascinating; in the past he'd always found brown dull and commonplace. He lived in Japan, and almost ninety-nine percent of the population had brown eyes.

So, what made Ichigo's so different?

Amber mixed with gold. Flecks of dark chocolate brown, at times sparking and spitting with rage, other times hard as steel with determination. He'd seen Ichigo's eyes when the man was angry, cold, harsh and taunting. He'd seen them when Ichigo laughed, something warm and compelling about his smile.

People gravitated to his orange-haired rival, that he knew. Ichigo was funny, irreverent, charismatic, and this, mixed with his bad-boy persona at once, fascinated and repelled the other students. They had met and fought in their first year of college, and, ever since then, Grimmjow riled the other boy up, whipping him into a froth of livid anger, just to have the taste of it on his tongue again. He loved the blood, loved the sight of sweat dripping down tanned skin, and loved the fact that he could stir this hard, distant person like no other.

For Ichigo _was_ distant. He wore his scowl like a mask, and at the rare moments where he let it drop, Grimmjow always saw soft sadness and longing in those eyes, as if Ichigo was staring into a future he could never have.

It was strange when Ichigo was sad. It didn't suit him. Scowling and shouting and snapping suited him, fighting suited him, when his muscles would tense and his teeth were bared in a taunting sneer. Grimmjow lived for the roaring fire in those brown eyes when they fought, relished every breath of Ichigo's scent, the touch of Ichigo's smooth skin against his own, white teeth and orange hair and everything was blinding, hypnotic, untouchable, a spiral of movement and adrenaline slicing him to the very core.

There was a special place reserved in his heart for those times. For all the hundreds of people he had fought, Ichigo always stood out. None of their fights had ended with a true victor, as they had always come out in the end as equals, both equally battered and bruised.

For a moment, the blue-haired man wondered what Ichigo would feel like if they weren't fighting. His hands, running over that skin, through orange hair, stroking cheekbones and the delicate skin of his eyelids. His lips against Grimmjow's, the heat of his body, his breath, everything about him belonging to Grimmjow and only him.

Heat was pooling in the pit of his stomach, seeping uncomfortably between his legs. He clenched his fists, imagining Ichigo against him, inside him, kissing him, breathing him-

"And, that's it, ladies and gentleman! Your time is up!"

The first sound they had heard in three minutes. It was a sledgehammer slamming into the delicate glass bubble that surrounded them, shattering it into millions of shards that fell around them noiselessly. Both men jerked, forcefully pushed from their reverie.

Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut and kept them closed. His head was throbbing, his mouth dry and his tongue felt as though it had swollen up and would choke him. He felt Grimmjow stand up slowly and the urge to lunge and pull him close was overwhelming. He could smell the other boy – a mix of soap and cheap aftershave masking a darker, muskier scent that had goose bumps breaking out on Ichigo's arms.

He barely remembered the rest of that day. Things passed by him in a blur of colour and indistinguishable sound. For the next week, he searched desperately in his lectures for a flash of blue hair, but saw nothing.

Ichigo didn't see Grimmjow again for five days. Each one stretched on endlessly, filled with boredom and images of blue eyes consuming his mind. But then – then.

They found each other. One look shared between them, charged with everything they had felt together in those three minutes and more. Ichigo stepped towards him, watching Grimmjow carefully as one would observe a wild animal.

Nothing but air between them. Fingertips skimmed over Grimmjow's forearms, and pulled him closer. Ichigo parted his lips, eyes already heavy-lidded and half-closed, darkening with desire.

And then, Grimmjow punched him.


	2. cherry blossom eyes

Cherry blossoms were falling. The sky was purple, a light violet color, and the clouds glowed with an otherworldly light. Lightning flashed across his eyes.

_I'm dreaming,_ he thought.

It happened to him often, these lucid dreams. A space and time where he could control his actions, where he went, what happened to him. Sometimes he was at his old high school, sitting in the corner and glaring at all his classmates and his teacher. At others, he would be lying down at the beach and unable to move, the tide slowly drifting in, tickling his toes and gradually eating up his body until he was underneath the water, drowning peacefully.

Unusually, he felt no pain in the dreams that he died. And he did so often. He had heard it said that if you died in your dreams you died in real life, but that had never happened to him and he wondered why everyone got so caught up in the meanings of these hallucinations. He'd once picked up a book and flicked through it; it had offered to explain the symbolism behind dreams and nightmares, but Grimmjow had only rolled his eyes and sneered before throwing it away.

No book could explain what _he _dreamt about.

Most of the time, he was walking through sand dunes, utterly alone. The sky was always black and a sickle moon hung crookedly amongst the stars. The sand crunched like freshly fallen snow underneath his feet and he was looking for something. For what, he didn't know. But he would when he found it.

The sand was shifting rapidly under his feet this time. The trees that had always been there had suddenly burst into bloom and candy-pink flowers festooned the formerly bare branches, as if bunches of cotton candy had burst through the sand.

There was no wind, but for some reason, the blossoms were drifting in the air, settling into his messy blue hair and landing gently across his path. He stomped over them unthinkingly. There were no footprints left after him, but Grimmjow never noticed. He was looking. Searching.

Blue eyes flickered across the sand dunes intently. Grimmjow growled a little under his breath, then abruptly turned on his heel and started to stride up a large, steep dune. He didn't know why he was going this way, but he could feel it. A presence. A voice. Something was calling him.

He didn't know how long it took him to get over the edge, but he was sweating by the end of it. As he reached the peak he threw himself over it, panting and glaring.

The sand dune formed part of a sort of crater, the middle of which had sunk deep into the earth of his dreamland. He saw green, water, animals, life. Grimmjow stared, eyes wide.

An oasis had formed in the middle of his bleak, barren mind.

And right in the middle of it was Ichigo.

He was lying against the trunk of some leafy tree, cross-legged and looking utterly at ease. Brilliant green grass spread at his feet, and there were wildflowers and butterflies and birds, all self-contained in that small area. Grimmjow slid down the sand dune as though in a daze, and he walked up to the intruder in his dream.

"Kurosaki?"

Ichigo looked up and grinned. The smile transformed him and Grimmjow felt his stomach slowly turn over, the back of his neck heating up in an intense blush.

"Hey," Ichigo said. "You took your time. Let's go already."

"Huh?"

Ichigo reached out and took his hand, pulling himself up to his feet. They were nose-to-nose and Grimmjow could see himself reflected in deep, dark brown eyes.

_Funny, _he thought to himself dazedly, _I don't remember them being so dark...they're almost...black..._

Ichigo had long eyelashes and smooth, clear skin. Up close the smell of him was almost hypnotizing, and Grimmjow followed as he tugged on Grimmjow's hand gently and led him to the pool at the center of their oasis.

"You make me feel really weird," Grimmjow said abruptly. "And I don't know why."

Ichigo looked over his shoulder and gave him a grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. Grimmjow found himself melting.

"I've never felt like this before," he said. "It freaks me out. That's why I punched you."

Ichigo didn't answer. He let go of Grimmjow's hand and started wading into the middle of the pool. Water lilies and lotuses seemed to tangle in his hands as he spread them wide, going deeper and deeper, soon submerged up to his waist in clear blue-green water.

Without question, Grimmjow followed him. The pool was deceptively deep; within a few steps the water reached up to his thighs, his chest, neck, before his head finally sank under the surface.

There was no difference in temperature. He felt neither weightless nor heavy. He was just walking across a hard surface, something smooth like glass or steel, and his eyes were closed.

Grimmjow opened them. They were underwater, but he could breathe. He felt no fear. His eyes didn't sting, and he could see that Ichigo was floating before him, hands in pockets and a strange, calm expression on his face, like an almost-smile. His eyes here were startlingly bright, a molten gold. They appeared to be glowing. He had the appearance of a demon and an angel melting into the same body. The most beautiful thing Grimmjow had ever seen.

"I want to kiss you," he said.

Ichigo's mouth tilted in a crooked, teasing grin. "Gotta catch me first."

He sped away like a shot, bubbles rippling behind him. Grimmjow raced to catch up, but Ichigo proved to be a surprisingly strong swimmer and Grimmjow, while athletic, was muscular and preferred sports such as rugby or wrestling, whereas Ichigo was built for speed and agility: he was part of the track team and swam every day, one of the reasons his body was so lithe and lean. Ichigo moved through the water as if he'd been born for it, slipping through holes and sliding through the spaces between the buildings like an otter -

_Wait a fucking minute. Buildings?_

Grimmjow paused, looking around him. Sure enough, there were buildings, skyscrapers really, all sideways and underwater. There was a sky, and clouds, even a sun – it merely seemed as if it had all sunk into the middle of the ocean at a very odd angle.

"Where are we?" he wondered aloud.

"I dunno, really. I like to call it 'Atlantis'. Suits it, right?" Ichigo startled him by speaking. Grimmjow turned to look behind him and there he was, standing right there, head cocked to the side and a small smile on his face.

One foot moved. The other. Closer and closer he got to his prey until his face was but a breath away from Ichigo's, and neither of them moved. There was no time in a dream, yet it seemed to stand still for them anyway. Cherry blossoms were falling and one alighted on Ichigo's nose. Grimmjow brushed it away gently.

"I caught you," he said.

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "More like I let you."

Grimmjow raised his hands and cupped Ichigo's face. He was being unusually tender, and he didn't know why. A soft fluttering in the pit of his stomach, like a bird in a cage, had him shaking slightly. He licked his lips. Leaned in. Closed his eyes.

It was the first time he had ever kissed or been kissed. Ichigo felt like heaven. His mouth was soft and his fingers were running through blue hair, causing shivers to run down Grimmjow's back. They breathed together, moving closer until their bodies were melded, chest to chest, fire crackling through their souls as lips moved against lips and tongues slid against tongues.

Long, spidery fingers wandered against the skin of Grimmjow's back and he groaned at the feeling. Ichigo's hands were warm, rough and callused, tracing random patterns and sliding up and down, leaving trails of white-hot acid their wake, like his flesh would drip away from his bones. He never wanted it to end. He wanted to stay close to this person, to Ichigo, for as long as he lived.

He was panting. Electricity was running through his veins, lighting up his nerves and making his very bones shake. Ichigo felt right in his arms. He fit there like he belonged there.

Grimmjow knew in that moment; he knew. There would be no one else. There had never been anyone before Ichigo, and there would be no one after.

They pulled apart, foreheads resting against each other. Ichigo's eyes were open and Grimmjow let himself wander in their depths, that swirling caramel gold glinting in the sun and crumbling into dark chocolate. He swallowed thickly.

It came out in the breath of a whisper, hardly spoken.

"I love you."

His response was a wide, mischievous smile.

"I know," said Ichigo.

* * *

><p>He hadn't been expecting a punch. Anger, yes. Incredulity, of course. But, a straight out punch to the face?<p>

When he thought about it though, it seemed natural that Grimmjow should react with thoughtless violence. Ichigo knew that whenever the other boy was confused or unsure, he masked it with anger and a swaggering sort of bravado, often lashing out and pushing away the people that tried to help him or get close to him. People had tried - Grimmjow possessed exotic good looks and a weird sort of twisted, obnoxious charm that interested people. But, the flipside to his personality was his blunt rudeness and utter disregard for anyone but himself. He was closed-up and mysterious, an enigma that refused to be solved.

Ichigo was determined to solve him, so much so that his stubbornness had been mistaken for obsession and his friends frequently asked him if he had hit his head in the recent past and needed hospitalization. He brushed away their concern. Yes, being punched in the face by the object of his affection had been embarrassing and slightly surprising, but he'd gotten over it. He couldn't really blame Grimmjow, if he was being honest with himself. Ichigo knew he would have reacted similarly if placed in the same situation.

There was no plan in mind. Ichigo hardly planned anything. He was the type of guy who ran in with all guns blazing, and fuck the consequences. Ishida was more the type for that sort of thing, being obsessed with chess and all, but Ichigo had no head for tactics and strategy. He liked things plain and simple, and it usually worked out for him, much to the chagrin of others.

Right now he was at the gym, in the space provided for the martial artists to train. He had just finished co-teaching a karate class and he was lying down on the floor, waiting for the others to clear out so he could take a shower and change his clothes in relative peace. The floor was hard and cold against his back but he was tired enough not to care. With finals coming up and a metric ton of homework to finish for the coming days, as well as socialising and life in general, he was feeling more than a little worn out. The Grimmjow Situation didn't help, either; Ichigo was honestly stumped as to what to do next. Everything he thought of just fell to pieces.

Sitting back and sighing, Ichigo closed his eyes. It was incredibly frustrating; he was a man of action, and this sitting around and overthinking didn't suit him.

He heard the sound of the door open and slam closed, but thought nothing of it. A slight frown crossed his face when the stomp of feet came closer and closer to him and he slit open his eyes to find a cloud of blue hovering over him.

Grimmjow's face was a mask of anger. Well, that wasn't surprising. "Kurosaki."

"Yeah, that's me. What do you want?" Ichigo sat up, leaning back on his arms casually.

The hard, pale mask cracked a little. "Talk. I need...we should talk."

At that, Ichigo raised an eyebrow. Talk? Grimmjow was similar to him in that they both preferred action to words, so this was unusual...but it intrigued him. He shrugged.

"Then talk."

"That...day..." said Grimmjow, with some difficulty, "when...you know."

"No, I don't. What day?"

"Don't play stupid, fuckhead," Grimmjow snarled. "You know what I'm talking about. That day. When you...tried to kiss me."

"Oh right." Ichigo rolled his eyes. _"That _day. Why didn't you say so before?"

"You...why did you do that?"

Ichigo rolled his eyes again. He was sure he'd be doing a lot more of that before he was done with Grimmjow. "Whaddya mean, why? Why do people usually kiss each other?"

The other man was flustered, he could tell. "You - shut up! You were just tryin' to humiliate me, weren't ya? Tryin' to make a fool outta me, show me up, make me look stupid-"

"You do that fine by yourself."

The sound of Grimmjow's temper snapping was audible in the otherwise silent room. Blue eyes were intense and electric with fury, fists were clenched, and Ichigo could even see a vein pulse and tic in Grimmjow's muscular neck. He almost grinned to himself. He'd never been able to say no to a fight. And there was just something about the other man that made adrenaline course through him in a way no one else had ever come close to.

"What did you say?" The low growl thrummed across his muscles in musical vibration.

Ichigo stood. He stretched, noting the way Grimmjow's eyes followed every movement, his hungry gaze, a pink tongue darting out to wet dry, cracked lips. The tension between them was palpable, charged with a rainbow of emotions ranging from curiosity to resentment. Ichigo found it curious that he could stir up so much from the usually reserved and two-dimensional maniac. It had always been this way; Grimmjow had it out for him.

Rolling his shoulders to loosen himself up, Ichigo wondered if it was wise to pursue any kind of relationship he had with his arch-nemesis. Maybe the enmity between them was enough. Maybe Mother Nature had intended it that way for both of them.

He narrowly avoided the first punch. Feeling the whoosh of air rush past his cheek as he moved to the side, he scowled fiercely at Grimmjow.

"Hey, that's cheating!"

Grimmjow only sneered. "That was to get your attention, asshole. The real fight ain't even started yet."

"Rules?"

The sneer deepened. "You know those don't exist with me. We're doin' this street style."

"Street style, eh?" Ichigo massaged his neck and let a slow smile curve his lips. "Fine. You're on."

With that, he ripped off his black belt and tore off his karate jacket, leaving nothing but his white pants on. Grimmjow found his gaze lingering a little too long on the hard, defined muscles on Ichigo's chest and abdomen before shaking himself internally and doing the same. The two were topless, stripped to the waist and without shoes and socks. They had no tape wrapped round their ankles or hands: there was no pulling back, no soft hits or pretending. This was to be a fight, a real one, to end all others.

Ichigo flexed his hands, standing on the balls of his feet and bouncing slightly. He could already feel the beat of his heart quicken, pounding against his ribs. His senses heightened, ears and eyes sharp for the first betraying movements, muscles twitching minutely under the blanket of anticipation that suffocated them both.

As expected, Grimmjow was the first to lunge. Ichigo braced himself as he held up an arm and blocked the punch headed towards his chest, recovering and sending a blow of his own. Soon the two of them were engaged in a furious, dangerous dance, punches and kicks thrown, engaged, blocked and return. Sweat ran down their bodies and covered their skin in a sheen. Hair was plastered to foreheads and to the back of their necks. Grimmjow felt the biggest smile spread across his face, threw his head back and cackled loudly as the pain sharpened and highlighted every color, intensified every feeling. Oh, how he loved to brawl like this!

Both felt as though they had been born to do battle. This was their purpose in life. Neither remembered being so evenly matched, so war-hungry and lustful for blood. Grimmjow's head spun at the image of Ichigo with his split lip and cut cheekbones, Ichigo in turn found his breath hitch when he saw one of Grimmjow's eyes swell and bruise.

Their knuckles were cut and bleeding; noses, eyes stung and there were numerous cuts and bruises scattered over their body. Neither knew how long the fight had lasted. All they were aware of was how they moved, how the other moved in time, perfectly executed and reacted. Ichigo felt like Grimmjow could read his mind, knew everything he was about to do, knew where he was weakest and where he was strongest. It was frustrating, but thrilling.

In a moment of tense, quiet calculation Grimmjow saw his chance and surprised Ichigo by sweeping his legs out from under him. He pounced and smashed Ichigo to the ground, turned him on his front and straddled his backside while he pinned the other man's thrashing arms to his back. Ichigo roared his frustration and bucked angrily, wiggling and kicking and attempting to dislodge his opponent. Grimmjow sniggered, a wide maniacal smile splitting his face while he leaned down to whisper in Ichigo's ear, breathing in his smell: frustration, sweat, sex personified.

"Ain't so cocky now, are ya?" Following some prickling, devious urge, he ran his long, wet tongue down the length of Ichigo's ear, nipping gently at the lobe.

All he heard was a muffled snarl. Ichigo bucked up once again and Grimmjow bit back a moan as it ground against his crotch, exacerbating the heat that had spread across his whole body. The crotch of his jeans felt far too tight and things were tingling and stiffening and becoming very, very sensitive.

His head was spinning. The room felt too hot. His heart was pounding so hard he thought his ribs would break.

Ichigo caught him by surprise, the sneaky fucker. Curving his spine like that and getting him with a head-butt - who knew the orange-head was so flexible?

Within seconds, their positions were reversed. Ichigo held Grimmjow by his wrists, holding them above his head and pressing down heavily.

"Who's cocky now?" he breathed, and punched Grimmjow in the stomach with all his force.

Grimmjow felt it as the strength of a nuclear bomb concentrated into one fist, connecting with his body and exploding a crater out of his flesh. It blew the breath out of him. He couldn't think for the pain. His vision blacked out for a second and the instinct to curl into the fetal position was overpowering. Breathing deeply, the pain cleared after a few seconds, and he saw Ichigo smirking down at him triumphantly.

"Looks like I won this time, bluebell."

Grimmjow fought the urge to spit in his face. All he did was snarl; lips curling back to expose sharp white teeth that were unnaturally pointed. Ichigo laughed softly, but it turned into a sigh and he leaned down until his forehead pressed against Grimmjow's chest. He could feel the thud of a strong, healthy heart pumping blood, heat radiating from Grimmjow's skin like a furnace, slick with sweat and emitting some sort of sharp, lemony sort of scent that had his mouth drying out in seconds.

Both of them were panting, exhausted. Glancing to the side, Ichigo could see through the windows that the sky was a light purple darkening to indigo - it had to be late. How long had they been there? Surely not that long.

Ichigo breathed out harshly. He was sweaty, tired and felt disgusting, and was pretty sure Grimmjow shared his sentiments. It was hard to swallow, the room was that hot. His mouth was dry and there was not a muscle in his body that didn't ache.

The rasping breath of the man below him made him pause. He remembered the feel of that wet tongue dragging itself down his ear, the way Grimmjow had bitten down gently on sensitive flesh and the way he'd ground his hips against Ichigo's ass, alerting him to a very impressive-feeling arousal. That same arousal was pressed against his own now, and the heat and hardness of it was almost unbearable.

"Grimmjow." His voice was low, rumbling in his chest.

"What?"

"You wanna know why I wanted to kiss you?"

Grimmjow didn't answer, staring at him with those startling blue eyes, eyes that Ichigo had lost himself in. Eyes that had been haunting his dreams for nights on end and invaded every thought. Deep as the ocean and cold as ice, now they were unusually soft, curious, and Ichigo found his hands sliding down Grimmjow's arms and settling on his shoulders, feeling the contraction of muscle and bone beneath that perfect, smooth skin.

He moved forward until their noses were a hairsbreadth away, breath puffing warmly over Grimmjow's slightly parted mouth.

"I wanted to kiss you," Ichigo said, "because I like you."

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Grimmjow's mouth curled and his expression was disgusted.

"No one likes me," he spat. "Not even my own parents liked me. Don't you give me that bullshit."

"It's not bullshit," said Ichigo. "I like you. I want to kiss you. Let me kiss you."

It was not begging. Ichigo never begged. Neither did Grimmjow. The two stared into each other's eyes, feeling the pull, the magnetism, that drew them to each other. Grimmjow's heart was in his stomach and he could feel the blood pump through every vein and artery. He wanted to kiss Ichigo. Oh, how he wanted to, the urge was insane in its intensity, but-

"I've never done it before," he said.

Ichigo blinked. "Huh?"

"Kissed," Grimmjow snapped. "I've never...kissed anyone before. I...I don't know how."

The admission had him reddening from head to toe, squirming a little. A fierce glare stopped Ichigo from teasing him, and instead the orange-haired man traced the outline of Grimmjow's thin lips with the tip of a finger, smiling slightly.

"That's OK," he said. "I can teach you."

* * *

><p>Grimmjow vaguely remembered that they'd made their way to Ichigo's tiny student apartment and near fallen inside. The adrenaline from their fight was wearing off and they were starting to feel the full effects of their injuries, both muttering and cursing from the pain, shoving each other while at the same time holding each other up.<p>

_Like oil and water, _he reflected vaguely._ That's what we are. Oil and water._

The inside of Ichigo's room was messy and chaotic. Textbooks and papers were strewn over his desk and the floor was covered in clothes and clutter, old mugs still half-full with tea and water, dirty plates, books and wires connecting to the TV and game consoles in one corner. The bed was hardly made, the covers rumpled and hanging off the bed. Ichigo stumbled into his tiny bathroom, only big enough for a sink, toilet and minuscule toilet while Grimmjow flopped onto the bed, dog-tired. He buried his face into Ichigo's pillow, inhaling the scent of Ichigo's hair and letting it lull him into a doze. He was half-asleep when he felt a hand slapping his back, and swatted it away in irritation.

"Fuck off!" he barked, turning on his side and hissing in pain.

"Shut up Grimmjow, you stink and you're all sweaty, go take a shower."

"Go fuck yer mother."

"Ugh." He could practically see Ichigo pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "At least brush your teeth!"

"Got no toothbrush."

"Use mine, then."

"Fuck'n gross."

"Fine," Ichigo deadpanned. "Your breath's gonna stink in the morning and there's no way I'm gonna kiss you then."

At that, Grimmjow slowly cracked an eye open. He frowned and mulled over the consequences of his laziness. Usually, once he found himself in a bed, neither hell nor high water could convince him to get out of it again until he wanted to. It was one of the reasons he missed so many of his classes. But, the thought of a kiss...

It made his stomach roll, both in fear and excitement. He didn't know this feeling. It confused him. And, when he was confused, he usually dealt with it by punching someone in the gut, but if he did that to Ichigo there would be no way anyone would be getting anything tonight.

Grimmjow wanted it. He knew he did. If a real kiss felt like anything he had felt in that dream, then he wanted it and he wanted it badly. He considered his options.

"Where's the fuckin' toothbrush then?" he muttered.

"Go to the bathroom first. You're not doing it in here."

It took much longer than it should have, involved an incredible amount of moaning and whining and bitching, but at long last both Ichigo and Grimmjow were relatively clean. They fell into bed together, already half-asleep with exhaustion and ready for a long, restful night of sleep. Grimmjow felt himself tense when an arm slid around his waist and pulled him close to something large and solid and warm, but gradually relaxed as Ichigo's body heat seeped through him.

"You OK?" Ichigo mumbled behind him, words muffled by the pillow.

"'Course I am."

"Ever done this before? Sleep with a person in their bed?"

"No," Grimmjow said stiffly, feeling irritation sting.

"Mm. 'Kay. G'night."

His voice faded, and the sound of deep, even breathing replaced it. Grimmjow held himself frozen still, stiff and unwilling to move. He didn't know what to do. The bed was small and hardly fitted the both of them. He couldn't stretch his legs out and one of his arms was getting cramped from being tucked under his head. Ichigo's skin was warm and still damp from his shower, orange hair brushing again the back of Grimmjow's neck. He could feel Ichigo's breath seep down under his skin and tickle his stirring, awakening soul.

How did he do this? Why was it that every word and every action from this one person, whether imaginary or unconscious, could slice straight to the center of Grimmjow as though Kurosaki had threaded a silver-tipped needle and sewed up his very being? Every touch was electric fire, every glance from molten brown eyes a shock up his spine, every smile or laugh something that made his chest and his heart ache.

He wanted Ichigo, wanted him as he'd wanted nothing or nobody else before. He wanted to possess him, to own him, to lock him away inside a gilded cage and chained to Grimmjow's side. But, he knew he never could. And, he never would.

Ichigo would of course only resent him. Grimmjow couldn't understand why someone like that could possibly want_ him, _the deranged, sociopathic madman who constantly picked fights and got along with nobody. Lazy, rude, arrogant, bloodthirsty - he was in every sense a monster. He had no one. So far, he had needed no one.

Why did Ichigo have to go and fuck everything up?

Grimmjow squeezed his eyes shut. He was shaking. Some black hole was opening up in his gut, spewing out his insecurities, his faults, taunting him with his imperfection. He would never deserve to be loved. His own parents hadn't loved him; if they hadn't, who else would?

The feeling of a warm, callused hand running up and down over his stomach had him freeze. Ichigo shuffled closer to him until their bodies were melded together, legs tangled and tanned arms wound tight around Grimmjow's abdomen.

"Relax," said Ichigo, in a rough, husky voice. "Just relax and go to sleep. I'm here."

A soft, barely-there kiss behind the sensitive skin of his ear. He could have purred.

Ichigo muttered something else under his breath, but it drifted away towards the end as he sighed and fell back asleep. Grimmjow frowned a little as he shifted, trying to get comfortable. If his hearing hadn't failed him, he could have sworn Ichigo had just told him that he loved him.

It was impossible. He knew that. He'd misheard. A slip of the mind. But still, something wound tight and tense inside him softened just the slightest, and Grimmjow found himself drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep without a problem for the first time in years.


End file.
